


This Cruel Strain

by ShugendoRites



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Crying, Dacryphilia, Dehumanization, Fear of Disease, Like if you squint hard, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, References to bullying, Slight Verstael/Ardyn, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23078953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShugendoRites/pseuds/ShugendoRites
Summary: Ardyn amuses himself while waiting in the Keep. Prompto just tries to stand by and survive.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ardyn Izunia
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	This Cruel Strain

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, it's not great. Been working on it for a while, and I figured I might as well post what I have. Hope you enjoy.

Playing the waiting game is something that Ardyn has long grown used to, yet it never fails to aggravate him. These empty long corridors and rusting metal walls were enough to drive a man mad twice over. Luckily, he has just the toy to amuse himself with.

It was funny how cycles always seemed to repeat themselves. Once again, he found himself in the cold wastes of Niflheim, alongside a young blonde. And yet things are different. This one is not like his creator. Not half as arrogant, or as clever, and only a tad more talkative. The reality of it means that it's not as satisfying as Ardyn would've wished. Perhaps he'd gotten his expectations too high.

Behind him there is movement. An audible grunt as the little copy strains against his fate. Ardyn feels his smile return. Prompto is amusing enough in his own right. Really this one couldn't be more different from his progenitor, but perhaps that was something to be enjoyed.

Ardyn decides to tell him. "Despite all appearances, you really aren't much like him. Where he was stern and unyielding, you are bright and ever so malleable."

It's not the first conversation he's tried to hold with the boy. But he's far from expecting an answer at this point. The responses he'd gotten before were quite rude, but hardly unexpected. Thankfully, the application of a single strip of tape put an end to those hateful critiques. Now, Prompto just glowered at him silently from his place upon the rack.

"Fascinating, isn't it? How the factors of nurture versus nature can shape the outcome of man. I've long learned that it isn't worth leaving such matters to the gods."

Verstael's ego was unending, a beastly thing that fed upon itself. It was interesting to see how his lies evolved over the years. As if his work was for anything but his own merit. In his youth, he claimed it was for the empire. To advance their great civilization to what he felt it deserved to be. Then, it was for the progress of mankind. Though perhaps that one really had been his goal once.

It was only towards the end of his life that he had been honest in his means. In death, if not in life. Through that hubris of his, Verstael created Immortalis. A device that would be capable of killing the gods. An admirable goal, but one Ardyn been forced to curtail. What was the old adage? About creations inevitably killing their creators? It had seemed so poetically just at the time.

Perhaps Verstael could have been much more... But, such things were just not meant to be. He can't really say he's sorry about the results. Ardyn looks over at the metal rack, where a living legacy thrashed about. Verstael's labor was finished. Now he would reap the rewards.

"Now, let's have a look at you." He reaches forward. No interruptions this time. His thumb brushes over Prompto's cheek and the freckles that cover it.

_Sun-kissed._ The thought is fleeting, but fitting. These marks are a blessing, and this little one doesn't even realize it. To his brothers, sunlight will mean only death. Those other models, huddled in the dark safety of their tanks, exist only to be entombed in metal casing. Seeing the light only at the end of their existence.

He steps back. "As I thought. Utterly unique down to the last blemish." He drew his fingers lightly over his chin, causing the younger man to shiver. Sensitive thing, wasn't he? So unaccustomed to touch. Verstael had a low tolerance for it as well, and would often slap his hands away.

"You've run around, causing just the right amount of trouble I need. But, now I need you to be a good lad and wait for your friends to arrive."

* * *

Ardyn was obsessed with touching. Petting his hair. Tapping his freckles like he was keeping count of them. Tracing the outline of his lips through the tape. He hadn't ventured anywhere below the belt yet, but somehow Prompto didn't expect that to last.

It confirmed one thing. Ardyn really had tried to cop a feel back at the caravan. None of them had known how to react back then. It was like all those stories he'd heard of girls getting groped on subways. Everyone just kinda... just stared in shock. He still didn't know how to feel about that. If he'd been a girl, it might have been different. He can easily picture Gladio decking Ardyn if that was the case.

Prompto knows he shouldn't expect any of them to defend his honor. He should be able to do it himself. Besides, he hadn't done anything to retaliate either. He hadn't even really touched Prompto then. He just reached close enough to have his thumb almost graze Prompto's chin. But... _Six_ , he'd felt so gross about it later _._ He tries not to shiver. It's bad enough that his fingers are already numb.

In contrast, Ardyn's hands are surprisingly hot to the touch. Like the "bordering on fever" kind of heat that would've had Ignis foisting meds on him. It surprises Prompto just how much that simple contact burns.

"There's always a chill in the dark, isn't there?" Ardyn muses aloud. "At least, I could never get warm in places like these."

_Then why do you WORK here?_ Prompto scowls, unable to say it aloud. He can only hope to have his glare translate for him. All this one-sided conversation does is reinforce that he doesn't care about the ramblings of sick, crazy old men. He's tired of hearing it, and just wants to go home.

Even now, he could still hear the steady thrum of electricity pulsing through the wires, but it came in intervals now. _Power outages_ , he guessed. Probably due to the weather outside. He couldn't imagine the cost and effort it took to keep a facility like this running in such bitter, bitter cold.

Prompto's brought back to the present when a hand grabs his face. Ardyn doesn't like being ignored.

He cups Prompto's chin with one hand and tilts it to the side. With the other, he takes two fingers and pries at his eyelids. Opening them as wide as they go, he holds them there.

Prompto doesn't want to think about how filthy those hands might be. Or what they're currently getting into his left eye. But, there's nothing else to concentrate on. He feels his eye begin to water. He wants to close it so bad. But, he can just imagine Ardyn bringing something sharp forth from his pockets and... He wants to blink, but he's not sure if he'd risk it if he could. Not when anything could set this guy off.

Finally, enough water accumulates. It slides off his eyelashes and down his cheek. It never makes it off his face though. Rough hands jerk his head forward. Prompto's face twitches as lips brush his cheek, and a moment passes before he even gets what's happening. By then, Ardyn's already pulled away. All that's left is the drying trail left on his cheek.

"I cried too, you know." Ardyn whispers, "When they left me in the dark." He looks... lost. Prompto waits for the other shoe to drop, but it's not coming. There's no condescension or any of that trademark smarm in his voice. The sorrow on his face seems genuine, and it's what terrifies Prompto the most. "I pleaded with the gods, to be spared from the darkness. I begged for someone, anyone to help me." Prompto does a double take. For a moment, he thinks he sees a tear drop down his cheek. Dark, viscous, and black like ink. He blinks again, and no, he's not seeing things. Black liquid flows down Ardyn's cheeks.

Rivulets of the Scourge.

Prompto recoils, smacking his head against the metal board he's strapped against. Because _of course Ardyn's infected._ Dear old _Dad_ had been, so why wouldn't Ardyn be sick as well? Lady Lunafreya was gone, thanks to this bastard. Maybe it was some form of divine retribution? That'd be swell.

_As long as he doesn't take me out with him._

Because that was the question, wasn't it? What did you do when you were infected with the Starscourge now? He remembers the terrified whispers and frightened conversations of the passengers back on the train. _No Oracle, no cure._ Preventing the infection was the only way to live now.

"But, the innocent are never spared, dear one. In fact, I believe the gods hate them the most of all." And there Ardyn was, casually patting Prompto's face. Suddenly, Prompto's thankful for the tape. Relieved, even. He doesn't want any part of this strange sick man touching him. And at this point, he'll take whatever barrier he can get.

"After so long, you'd think I run out of them." The sadness in his gaze seemed to be fading. It was enough to have Prompto tensing for a blow. It doesn't make the sudden reappearance of Ardyn's smile any less unnerving.

His fingers go for Prompto's right eye this time. Only this time, he pulls forth a familiar knife. Prompto stays as still as he can, as he begins to ever so lightly trace a line beneath his eye. Not quite cutting, but Prompto can feel the pressure, and the threat it means. His eyes are already watering. Was it stress? Fear? Who the hell knew, because Prompto sure didn't.

Ardyn just stands there. Watching. He withdraws the knife, and for moment Prompto lets himself think it's over.

Apparently, it's not enough. Ardyn whips the blade forth, slicing Prompto on the nose. Right between his eyes. The sting instantly has his eyes dripping, with more than just water. Prompto can't help but recall a memory.

_He wasn't always clumsy enough to fall over as a kid._ _Sometimes he was pushed. On his knees, unable to get up. Crybaby, they called him. Well, maybe that was true now, but it sure as hell was for different reasons._

Ardyn steps back. Looking at his work, he seems satisfied. "It's a relief to know you can always shed more for me."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Thank you for reading!


End file.
